Till the End of Time
by technicolortardis
Summary: It was believed that the Dark Days of the Law were over, but a more sinister plot was laying in wait. Ten years into the future, the Dark Days are worse than they ever were, and under this, there exists a tiny faction devoted to righting what went wrong. With no choice left, one man is forced to travel back into time and change the future. Set after Dual Destinies.
1. Prologue

_A very small note_: the prologue has, currently, little bearing on the story, it's merely the set-up. Things won't really get properly started until around chapter 3 or 4, which are case-chapters. And another thing: each pronoun you see here refers to a different character, to clear any confusion, and any chapter set in this time period will likewise be written without any names being given (though some of them might be obvious). As to a final note, each chapter is told from the point of view of a different character.

* * *

**- Prologue -**

_3 December, 2039_

_A long time ago, or so it seems, we thought that those days were over. Yet… The dark days of the law were far, far from over… How stupid we were, to think it was that easy…_

He stood at the bus stop, leaning against the building behind him, his arms folded. He gave off the distinct impression of someone who did not want to be talked to. His eyes were closed, and there was a small frown on his face as he sensed everyone skirting around him nervously, staring at the disgraced attorney.

_Then again, every member of the law enforcement is in disgrace… How we ever let things get like this… well, it's not hard to figure out. We thought we'd found salvation, and that we'd finally dispelled the darkness. We found out the hard way that it takes more than a handful of people to bring law to its knees. We fell into a trap._

He sighed, his breath rising in a thick mist from under the collar of his coat. Things had seemed so simple and bright back then. With that man back behind the bench where that man belonged, the law's dark days had seemed like they were brightening. Everything felt so natural and surreal, even in hindsight of what had preceded that. Perhaps it was a bias, but he had thought that nothing could go wrong, and he was right at first, or so it seemed. Faith and trust had been resurrected in the law, thanks to the unnaturally dangerous combination of those two people.

_Those two people were an enigma, something to be envied. Enemies who trust each other implicitly. Of course, I have some idea what that's like…They trust me just fine, after all, and we've always worked together to bring down the true culprit of every murder, but now… even the legendary duo, those two people, had trouble discerning who the real killers were. Even I can't prove anything. Our law is broken. _

The bus drew up to the curb, and he pushed himself off of the wall with his shoulders, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his body at the movement. He took a seat at the back of the bus, still frowning and gazing out the window. It was still dark out, despite it being almost nine in the morning, owing no doubt to the dark clouds high above, which were threatening snow, at least according to the weatherman. Considering the cold, it was believable; though he wasn't sure it was entirely the weather's fault for the continuous chill.

Truth be told, he didn't even know why he was going to do when he reached his destination. He stepped off the bus some untold time later (as if he cared) he was hailed the moment he set foot in the courthouse. Well, if they wanted to talk, they'd have to wait until it was convenient. Still, he was caught up to owing to the fact that he hadn't bothered to pick up his pace, and turned roughly around.

"Didn't you hear me?" they demanded. "I have something I need to talk to you about. Can you come with me, please?"

This was considered for a moment, his expression wholly unreadable. Well, effort had been made to catch him, and he had his suspicions about what on earth they could possibly want. He sighed heavily, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands in his pockets. They correctly interpreted this as an affirmation, and began to lead the way to one of the lobbies. Unsurprisingly, she was there, biting her thumb in an absentminded sort of way.

_Oh man… what do these two want? They look like someone just died. Which… isn't all too impossible. Still, they tend to look like this a lot when we wander too close to the topic of law. Looking like someone has just died… isn't a far cry from the truth, especially since, usually, someone _has_ died or disappeared. Usually it was someone within our faction, for lack of a better word for it. Secret organisation? That girl used to call it a brigade, always with that sunny smile on her face…_

"We've got a mission for you."

A raised eyebrow was the only acknowledgement this statement was given, and she, after a moment's hesitation, sped on with a very fast run-down of the mission in question. He had already received some word about this mission before, but since last night, he was now the only one they could afford to send. He listened, leaning against the back of the bench for witnesses to sit on with his arms folded again and his eyes shut, taking in every word she was saying, despite appearances. She pressed something tiny into his palm as she spoke, explaining it (despite him already being aware of what it was). The mission was vital, the two of them said, and it could no longer wait. Both seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the answer.

_A mission, huh?_


	2. One - In Between 01

'

**- One – In Between 01 -**

_13 December, 2028_

Miles Edgeworth was alone in his office, reading a case file from the past February. Even now, ten months later, the case was bothering him severely, yet no matter how many times he reviewed the case, nothing new leapt out at him. He wasn't even exactly sure what was bothering him so badly about the case that he found himself re-reading the case file almost every day now.

_What is it about this case? It's unnatural in and of itself that Wright's client was found guilty… but there was nothing he could do with the witness testimonies. Even my own testimony was useless to the case. None of the witness testimony helped anyone except the prosecution. If anything, my testimony, my little slip, hurt the defence very badly. It gave her the opening she needed to tear the case apart and earn a conviction for the defendant._

He turned a page of the case file, reading the evidence list and absently removing his glasses to clean them, groping around on his desk for the soft cloth, not taking his gaze off the evidence list. He didn't like this list in the slightest, but at least here he knew why. He felt a cold sensation whenever he read through it, one that reminded him unpleasantly of the GN-1 case from several years ago. There was an unnatural amount of evidence against the defendant in that case. The defendant in that case had been innocent of the actual murder itself, but he had hired an assassin to do the killing. Still, perhaps it was a bias because the defendant in the PR-0 case was an acquaintance and subordinate of his, but he just couldn't envision her murdering someone, despite the amount of evidence stacked against her.

His grey eyes fell on the name of the prosecutor in this case as he idly flicked through the file. He had no idea how she'd wound up assigned to this case, which was another factor in the case that bothered him. He could have sworn he'd assigned someone else entirely to the case, but the files showed that Houko Ittou had always been the head prosecutor in the case. He usually tried to avoid putting her on cases where he was on the fence of the defendant's guilt or almost certain of their innocence. Ittou was everything Manfred von Karma had been, and her record was as pristine as the fresh snow outside his window. He tried to put her only on cases where the defendant was most certainly guilty.

Edgeworth sighed, placing his glasses back on his face and looking around the office, his eyes narrowed slightly. This case wasn't the only bothersome one. As of August, there had been an upswing in cases where no verdict had been able to be delivered. Edgeworth slid one such case towards himself. It was the first of the unsolved cases, marked YN-5. He'd been going over a lot of the cases where no verdict had been able to be reached, partly out of curiosity, and partly because it was his job as chief prosecutor to fix these things. He sat back in his chair, reading the file. Ever since the PR-0 incident, he'd been very, very meticulous in placing prosecutors to the different cases. This time, he'd assigned Simon Blackquill, who was ultimately one of his best subordinates. With Apollo Justice as the defence, he'd been sure that a fair verdict would be reached. He hadn't been banking on a culprit not being found in the three-day period, with no real progress being made after the first day, where the defendant was clearly proven innocent.

The entire YN-5 incident sat wrong with Edgeworth, much like the PR-0 incident had. They were similar cases, something he'd noted back when the YN-5 incident had been brought to his attention. Both victims had been in the law enforcement, and both were found murdered in their offices. What intrigued Edgeworth most about their similarities was what intrigued him about the PR-0 incident: the witness testimony. It was unhelpful because none of the witnesses saw or heard anything definitive. Edgeworth stood up quickly and went to the case files related to the other unsolved cases, pulling all of them down before moving to the couch in his office to read.

_They're the same in their essence. No real witnesses, but an almost absurd amount of evidence, almost all of it circumstantial at best. All of the evidence points towards the defendant, but rarely is a motive ever found and even more rarely does the testimony match up_._ Could this be the work of a serial killer?_

There was a knock on his office door. Still flipping through a case file, Edgeworth checked his watch, then called that the door was open, glancing up only to see who was walking in. Edgeworth didn't recognise him, and he didn't say a word as he closed the door behind himself. After a moment, Edgeworth closed the file and placed it back on the pile, studying the visitor. He was a man, shorter than Edgeworth, wearing a long, high-collared coat, over the top of which Edgeworth could see a pair of bright brown eyes and, with a slightly sick feeling as he recalled the GN-1 case again, heavy scarring on the right half of his face. The man was leaning against the wall, his arms folded. He studied Edgeworth for a moment, letting his gaze wander to the case files surrounding him, then closed his eyes and allowed his head to point down at the ground. He seemed to be waiting for Edgeworth to speak.

"Can I help you?" Edgeworth asked, getting to his feet. This was met with rather annoying silence.

"Have you figured it out?" the voice came as a slight surprise. It was vaguely familiar, quiet, and mature. Without looking up or opening his eyes to see Edgeworth's expression, he indicated the case files Edgeworth had been looking at. With a frown, Edgeworth looked at the case files.

_How does he know, when I've only just figured it out?_

"Who are you?" he asked.

He seemed to consider answering, and when he answered, it was hard to tell if he'd sensed the hostility in Edgeworth's voice. "Delos Astraea."

"And why are you here?"

"A number of reasons," his short answers were starting to irritate Edgeworth as much as the witnesses who refused to state their name and occupation.

"Can you go into more detail?"

"Answer my question first."

"… I have. But what I want to know is how did you know-"

"That's why I'm here," Delos said, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something tiny, but didn't show it to him. Edgeworth's misgivings increased. When he said nothing, Delos went on. "It's not your imagination, Mr Edgeworth, there's a link in the cases."

"Serial killer?"

"Assassins," the simple, blunt answer startled Edgeworth.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. We received intelligence from a highly reliable source who was subjected to three separate lie detectors."

"Who?" Edgeworth demanded immediately.

Delos looked up at Edgeworth, then held out the small item he'd taken from his pocket by way of an answer.

On the palm of his gloved hand sat a district prosecutor's badge. It was old-looking and tarnished in places, but its owner clearly took very good care of it, tarnishes aside. Edgeworth turned it over to look at the serial number and very nearly dropped it in his shock. Instinctively, he stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out his own badge and fumbling with it. Just to be certain, he compared the back of the badges. They were identical, as he knew they would be, right down to the tiny bite mark that his and Franziska's niece had put on it when she was six. They were identical, except for the tarnishes on it and the obvious age of the badge Delos had presented to him. He turned the badges over, looking at the front. Tiny scratches, all from the other things in Edgeworth's pocket and occasionally dropping the badge, were on both of them in the exact same place, with a few extra on the older of the two badges. There was absolutely no denying that this was either an extremely well-done forgery or…

_This can't be a forgery. My badge is always, always on my person and nobody but me knows about these marks. Not even Franziska knows about the bite marks, and I very, very rarely show my badge to people unless I have to... How does he have this? How does he know about the marks on my badge? This older one… is undoubtedly my badge… and yet it can't possibly be. I have my badge, and this one is tarnished in places. The back of it is a little smoother than mine, too. It's older than my badge but… it's my badge. Now I'm thinking in circles. I have never much enjoyed tautology._

He glared at Delos, who showed no signs of fear, at least visible ones. He looked entirely unfazed by this, and had his arms folded again and was leaning against the shelves. He was clearly waiting for Edgeworth to speak again and to put the pieces together. Edgeworth sat down, still looking at the badges.

_If… he has this badge, which is clearly mine, then I must have given it to him. I'm the only one who could have. If I have my badge, however, then there's no way he can have mine. But if I instead consider the fact that his badge is clearly older than mine, then… but that's not possible. That's the sort of conclusion Wright would come to. But he has a habit of being correct, even on his most wild of ideas… Hm, is it possible that Delos Astraea…?_

Edgeworth turned the tarnished badge over in his fingers idly, considering if his conclusion was at all logical. It certainly was the only way things made sense, even if it was completely crazy. He tried to think of anything else that could possibly make more sense, but he had no such luck. Frowning heavily, he put his badge back in his pocket, and handed back the other.

"How?"

"In the coming years, a scientist will invent time travel. I'm here to put an end to the Dark Age of Law. It's far from over, even though it supposedly ended last year. Right now, it's a wolf in sheep's clothing, hidden in the shadows, laying in wait," Delos sighed. "From where I come from, it's impossible to tell what cases are suspicious and which ones aren't. At least right now, a red flag is raised with the witnesses, or more often than not, lack thereof. The evidence is specifically set towards blaming the defendant."

"So these cases are…?" Edgeworth couldn't believe he was going along with this.

"Apart from someone being murdered, entirely faked. All of the evidence is falsified evidence, except the murder weapon itself. Usually."

"What about the PR-0 Incident?" Edgeworth couldn't help but ask.

He half expected Delos to ask what case it was, but he didn't. His impassable face became twinged with misery. "That's the one that tipped everyone off, because two of the three witnesses were absolutely certain they saw a man leaving the room, but the third witness, you, was uncertain. It was partially that uncertainty that was the driving force behind Prosecutor Ittou's argument that it was a woman who did the killing. That case is one of the two cases that spawned the… faction, I suppose we can call it, that I'm from. It's rather consumed one of my superiors, and was the driving force behind her invention of time travel. Not to save the victim in the case, because then she'd never be driven to do what she's done, but to prevent the other countless, pointless deaths that have happened since."

He closed his eyes again, this time looking at the ceiling. "Sometimes… the murder is personal to someone within the faction. I won't name names, because doing so would make it inevitable… especially if any names I gave overheard now. Most of them have been disappearances, along with a warning to stop looking into the incidents and trying to catch the real culprits. Which… we hardly know where to begin, anyway. All we know is it's more than one person and it's spread on a global scale. Governments all over the world are corrupting and falling."

Edgeworth listened quietly with the growing suspicion that Delos didn't usually talk this much, based on the raspy quality his voice was getting.

"All of that from falsified cases," he breathed.

"That's what happens when the clearly innocent are convicted, Mr Edgeworth, and the guilty walk free… that's what happens when it's found out that entire cases are being faked, and that no one can find out the truth. No one knows how it got out to the public that the cases are faked."

"Saying the cases are faked makes it sound like there was no murder."

"Exactly. That's part of the public belief; the rest is the firm belief that the prosecution fake the evidence. They blame the defence for not putting up a good enough fight, the detectives for not finding the right evidence… the police for catching the wrong culprit…"

"Why did you come to me with all of this information?" this was something Edgeworth hadn't quite considered asking until then, too caught up in what was being said.

"Because you're the only person who could help me hide what I'm doing here," Delos said with a tiny shrug. "You're the Chief Prosecutor. I was told that you could give me a job and a place to live."

"That I can," Edgeworth strode over to his desk, and began to input data onto the computer.

"Do you need to know anything else?"

"No, I think I have everything figured out," Edgeworth said calmly. "Leave it to me."

"Thank you, sir."

_Yes, I think I have a very good grasp of what's going on._


	3. Two - Turnabout for a Start

_A note_: Before I begin, I'd like to clarify that Raymond Shields is actually a canonical character to the Ace Attorney series. I'm trying to keep OCs to a minimum outside case-specific people. The game in question hasn't been released outside Japan, and Raymond Shields is only his 'official' fan name. If you want to know more about him, his official Japanese name is Shigaraki Tateyuki. Also this wasn't the original second chapter, but the original needs a lot of work and I hate it so this one is its placeholder. Also it fits in better with the standard first case scenario. Finally, the underlined text is what would be green text in-game.

* * *

**- Two – Turnabout for a Start -**

_15 December, 2028_

Lorraine Storms stepped into the courthouse, her boss walking at her side. He was to be her co-counsel for the day. She wasn't stupid; she knew Raymond Shields listened to the rumours. But honestly, he didn't have to come with her to court just to see if she was cheating. He'd followed her around when inspecting the crime scene, too, to Storms' well-hidden irritation. Shields himself was frowning at her. It was strange to not see Shields in something like a good mood, but then again, Storms was a special case. Storms was perfectly aware that she reminded her boss of someone Shields held disdain for, and the rumours that went around about her. The same kind of rumours that went around about the person Shields disliked.

Storms worked for the Edgeworth Law Offices, and was one of its best attorneys, and indeed was held in higher regard than even Phoenix Wright, on account of the fact that Storms had never faced disbarment nor had she yet lost a single case. In terms of skill, Wright surpassed her with ease, but in overall record, she was superior. Storms was rumoured to have questionable methods both before and after Wright was disbarred, but nothing had been proven. For a while, Shields had considered her something of a pride point, and then yesterday, he'd started showing his suspicions about her.

The case was to be covered by the media, since the defendant and victim both were very, very famous actors. This was a large part of why Shields had originally wanted to take the case, but the defendant, Kirk Williams, was insistent on Storms. Williams wasn't at the courthouse yet, but the reporters were. Storms, no-nonsense as she was externally, pushed her way through without comment and shut the lobby door behind her. Ten minutes later, Shields followed. Behind him, Storms could see a very confused-looking reporter exchanging looks with his equally-confused cameraman.

_Again with the wisecracks and the sarcasm?_

"With all due respect, boss, you need to be more serious and just ignore them… sir," she said.

"But making them think a little is a learning experience, Ms Storms."

"Taunting them won't help us much. Reporters can be most malicious people when they want to be. If you aren't careful, sir, you'll damage the company."

"Ah, no I won't."

"You say that, but…"

"The company is safe. Reporters can't hurt us that badly. Your client's here."

Tiberius Williams, a tall, thin blond man in a yellow turtleneck, was escorted into the room with two officers, looking slightly anxious. Sporting a calm, if insincere, smile, Storms approached him, holding out a hand to him.

"Mr Williams, how are you this morning?"

"Fine," he gave her a thin-lipped, nervous smile. "And yourself, Ms Storms?"

"I'm looking forward to the trial," she said. "The quicker it is over with, the less the media has to say."

"Thank you. And to you, Mr Shields, but what brings you here?"

"I want to ensure justice is properly served."

"As do I," Storms said pointedly. "It's only natural, I think."

_Then again, sometimes I can't afford to care for justice. I have a record and more to maintain_.

"Mr Williams, it was you who phoned in about the murder, wasn't it?" Storms asked.

Williams nodded. "The call is still in my phone, which is in your custody already, miss."

"Ms Storms, court will be beginning in 5 minutes. We need to take er, the defendant into... the court room," the bailiff said in an increasingly smaller voice, throwing looks to Williams with some awe.

"Oh, yes, Officer Summerbee. It is Summerbee, correct?"

She nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Julienne Summerbee. I… will take the defendant into court, now. Mr Williams, sir, if you would, um, please c-come with me-?"

Storms watched them go, then followed them into the courtroom, taking her place at the defence bench. Shields stepped up beside her, reaching into his inner coat pocket for something while Storms unpacked her briefcase.

"Did you remember your CR-System?"

"I'm not a rookie, sir; I always carry it on me."

The CR-System was the new interface for the pocket Court Record. Formerly, it had been a small, handheld computer, roughly five inches by three but that didn't easily fit securely in pockets. Now it was made to resemble a thick, six inch tall pen, though it had no actual ink inside, with a thin crack running down it. Supposedly it was failed spy gear (failed because people found out about it), though the believability of this rumour varied from lawyer to lawyer. When pulled apart where the crack was, it expanded into a screen, much like how scrolls worked. Being larger than the old Court Record, it made for far easier typing, though it could still only be done single-handedly. Using the CR-System now required one's ID number, a passphrase, and fingerprint scanners like the kind on the evidence lockers to gain access. Why the system had cracked down so much, nobody really knew. Internally, the functions were exactly the same: no more than five cases, light but useful descriptions of the evidence, and allowed examination of several pieces of scanned evidence in three dimensions, this time with a little model.

Storms prodded her CR-System absently. There wasn't a whole lot to review at that moment. Three profiles (herself, Shields, and Williams), her badge, the murder report which detailed the police phone call from Williams, and Williams' phone were all that was presently stored in the court record. Until court began, she'd have to wait on the evidence the prosecution had. She glanced up when the prosecutor walked in and bit back a groan of irritation.

_Oh no, not _him._ I can't stand him. Why do I see him something like every five cases? It's ridiculous. Doesn't he have some rookies to go try and shame?_

Winston Payne, looking as smug as ever, stood opposite the room from her. Storms folded her arms and scowled at him, rather impatiently waiting for court to begin. When the Judge finally called it to session, Storms leaned forward slightly on the bench, ready to begin.

"Yesterday morning at around 9:05 AM, Mr Zachary Nimh was murdered. I have here the autopsy report," Payne held up a manila folder. "The victim was rather brutally assaulted with this…"

He held up the murder weapon questioningly.

"Oh! What is it?"

"It's a stage prop, Your Honour. It's meant to serve as a weapon, I believe."

"Yes, I can see that, there's blood on it."

"No, Your Honour," Storms said, sighing. "It's a prop that's used as a futuristic gun on the show. _Galaxy Voyage_ is a science fiction franchise. They don't generally do anything until special effects for the sound and the… um… phaser beams are added in when the scene is shot."

"Oh! Is that how that works?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"I always wondered how that worked," the Judge commented, nodding. "I see now. So all those lights and sounds in the movies are just special effects?"

"Yes."

_What did you think they were_?!

"I see. The court accepts these into evidence."

The CR-System brought up a notice about each new piece of evidence in turn, while Payne went on with his opening statement; "The defendant's fingerprints were found on the murder weapon, and he was seen standing over the victim's body by one of the other cast members."

Payne offered a small smirk. "I'd like to, firstly, call the detective in charge of this case, Dick Gumshoe."

_Oh? Gumshoe still has a job? Honestly, I'd thought the DA had fired him years ago. I suppose being good friends with the most influential prosecutor in the state has something to do with that. He's not exactly a very good detective. Good man, but not very bright. Dedicated but… well, headstrong. And not very bright. Which is likely why his pay is so ridiculously low_.

Gumshoe shuffled up to the witness stand, looking as rumpled as usual, and with a bandage on his face, telling Storms right away that he'd cut himself shaving (again). When prompted, he gave his name and occupation, with something less than his usual gusto. When prompted, he began his summary of the murder.

"The victim was hit hard over the head with this model TOS-66."

"**_Hold it!_**" Storms held up a hand. "Hold it. Model what?"

"It's the kind of phaser gun this is," Shields informed her lazily. "It's a standard-issue on the _Space Nine_. It doesn't really matter to the case what kind of phaser gun it is. Please continue, detective."

"The hit in question was so forceful that it broke the TOS-66 in question, right along the phaser cannon here,"

"**_Hold it!_** Detective Gumshoe, why is that relevant?"

"Considering how solidly this is built and the fact that it's metal means the victim was hit _really hard_," Gumshoe said.

"**_H-Hold it!_** No, I mean where it was broken? Why is that important?"

"Because this part, the phaser cannon, is built to be sturdy," Gumshoe explained, "so that if it's dropped, it doesn't break off. It's also, as you can see, a large part of the weapon. For it to break, the impact would have to be very forceful."

"How forceful?"

"It, um, almost took the victim's head off, it seems."

The Judge looked shocked. "That does sound like it hit very hard! And Mr Williams looks like a very strong man."

"Indeed he is, Your Honour," said Payne. "He could easily have destroyed the defendant with this toy."

"It's not a toy, it's a model STOS-66 phaser gun," Gumshoe and Shields corrected him automatically.

Storms and Payne both rolled their eyes and scoffed. "It's just a toy! Get over it," Storms shot at her boss, before hastily tacking on a hasty 'sir'. Shields simply shook his head at her, bringing the murder weapon up in his court record and examining it keenly. He rotated the digital model of it idly as he read the data about it. Storms picked the real weapon up, using a pair of gloves. There was black fingerprinting dust on it, but only around the trigger area did it seem to really stick.

"If His Honour would consider how heavy the STOS-66 is," Shields said after some silence, "it's possible that anyone could kill the victim using only the weight of it. Of course-"

"Mr Shields," Storms interrupted him irritably. "Need I remind you that I am the head of defence for this case?"

"My, you have a temper today. Fine, I'll be quiet."

_Liar_.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Your Honour. My co-counsel makes a fair point; this weapon is most heavy. Even you could use this to fatally wound someone."

"Are you accusing me of this murder?! Guilty! Ms St-"

"What?! No! No, Your Honour! I would never accuse you. I was merely saying that someone _like_ you could. It doesn't have to be someone strong and young like my client."

"… Oh."

_Goodness_.

"So you see-"

"But the fact remains that that he was seen standing over the victim's dead body, holding the weapon!" Payne cut her across. "You can't ignore that fact."

"Actually, I can. There's one glaring error in this logic, and that's the fact that the actual murder wasn't witnessed," Storms said. "My client could easily have walked in after the murder took place and picked up the weapon."

"And he could just as easily be the murderer," said Payne smugly. "Something I will prove with my next witness, Ms Nicole Nazario."

Storms brought up the profile of Nazario before she was brought out to the witness stand. She was a tall, leggy woman with dark skin and her dark hair back in a long ponytail. She looked more model than actress in Storms' opinion, and her slender figure was accented by the skin tight red dress she was wearing. Beside her, Shields let out a low whistle of appreciation. Nazario arched her eyebrows at him but said nothing. Payne seemed to have a similar reaction to her, causing Storms to roll her eyes. When nobody said anything, Storms took matters into her hands.

"Your name and occupation?"

"Nicole Nazario. I'm an actress and fantasy linguist."

"Fantasy linguist?" asked the Judge. "What's that?"

"I speak and write 12 different fictional languages fluently," she said. "I'm something of a language consultant for the show, as well as others."

"That sounds like quite a job!"

"It is, Your Honour, but it's good fun. You can say the most amusing things and the chances of anyone understanding you are very tiny. It's like a private joke with oneself. Call it a neat party trick, if you like."

"Can we move on?" Storms demanded. "Ms Nazario, your testimony. Now."

Nazario gave her a bitter look, obviously disapproving of her tone. "On the day in question, it was just the three of us on set, except minimal crew. We were going through some scenes that we had to re-shoot."

"**_Hold it!_**" Storms interrupted. "Why did you have to re-shoot scenes? And why with minimal crew?"

"The original recordings were corrupted," Nazario said idly. "As to the minimal crew, it's just cheaper that way. They were all, I'm certain all of them, out at the trailers. The three of us were at the sound stage during the break."

"What break?"

"We took a break, and Tibby and Zach ran through one of the scenes while I went to get a coffee," explained Nazario.

"**_Hold it!_** Where was the 'minimal crew' you mentioned? Where did they go during this break?"

"They went to the break room, which is pretty far from the sound stage we were using. I know all of them were there because I saw them when I was getting my coffee."

"Every single one?"

"Yes. As I said, there weren't many. A quick headcount is easy enough to do. The only people who weren't there were Tibby and Zach. They were still on the sound stage when I last saw them."

Storms gave a tiny nod, showing she understood. "All right. And after that?"

"I was coming back when I heard a thump, and when I came on the scene, I saw Zach dead and Tibby standing over him with the STOS-66 in his hand."

"**_Hold it!_** How long would you say it took you to get on the scene?"

"No more than a few seconds," she said. "I wasn't that far away."

"What did you do after that?"

"I screamed and dropped my coffee," Nazario said promptly. "Then I called the police."

Something about her last statement didn't sit well with Storms, who immediately began sifting through her CR-System, bringing up both her client's cell phone and the recorded phone call to the police. According to Williams' phone, and the record, he was the one to call it in. Storms selected the record, skimming it quickly, then leafed through the hard copies of the evidence to find it.

"**_Objection!_**" she slammed one hand onto the bench before her. "What you just said contradicts the police record!"

"What?"

Storms tapped the paper, her hand stinging slightly from hitting the smooth wood of the bench. "The police record. It states that the person who called in the murder was my client, Mr Williams."

Nazario's eyes widened slightly. "I must be confused."

"Clearly," said Storms dryly. "Since you are not my client. And his phone likewise showed he called the police station at the time indicated in his own phone record. I wonder, why are you confused? I think I'd know if I called in a murder or if my co-worker did, wouldn't you agree, Mr Shields?"

He didn't answer her. Payne did, though. "Obviously Ms Nazario was stressed, alarmed even. She walked in on one of her co-stars standing over another's dead body! The scene must have been extremely gruesome."

"It was," said Shields, holding up a photograph. "The defence would like to submit this photo of the crime scene, if it's not too troublesome."

Storms shot him a look. _When did we obtain a photograph!?_ Shields simply smiled at her and handed the photograph to her after it was accepted as evidence. The photograph indeed showed the scene of the crime, with Zachary Nimh's dead body laying face down in a pool of blood. Storms rubbed her neck absently, noticing the strange angle the victim's neck was bent at. The photo was taken from the entrance, with a very good view of the entire room.

"I remember the electrical cords," Storms commented. "You tripped on them trying to get a hug from that camera girl."

Shields looked unabashed. "I still got my hug, and the incident is neither here nor there. What matters is the case. And that photo."

He arched one eyebrow in an irritatingly knowing fashion. Feeling rather like she was playing a look-and-find game, Storms turned her attention to the photo. The murder weapon wasn't in the photo, but that was because it had already been picked up by Detective Gumshoe's men. Everything else was untouched. The blood was dangerously close to the electrical cords that ran to the lighting, though was mercifully the only liquid on the ground, though the blood around the victim's front seemed to mostly be dry, considering how dark it was and how little it seemed to have pooled. Storms wondered if the still wet blood would be able to cause a shorting out, absently chewing on her left index finger as she observed the photo. On the left hand side of the photo, there was part of the plastic tarp that was in place of the door, as the sound stages were currently undergoing remodelling. On the far right there was a set of what Storms assumed was the grey planet or moon the characters were supposed to be on with a green screen backdrop.

"Ah, um… Ms Nazario, would you mind giving us a, um, another testimony?"

"What about, Your Honour?"

"What happened after you walked in on the scene, I think," Shields said at a quizzical look from the Judge, who had clearly not thought this through. "Since you were… confused earlier."

"Yes," Payne said with a nod. "I quite agree; if you would, Ms Nazario?"

"If I must…" Nazario sighed. "There isn't really a lot to tell. I walked onto the sound stage, screamed and dropped my coffee, then I think I fainted for a spell. I came to and Tibby was on the phone with the police."

"**_Objection!_**" Storms said, pointing at Nazario (and feeling rather foolish about it). "Ms Nazario, could you look at this?"

She held up the crime scene photograph. "There's only one liquid on the ground here, and it's most certainly not your coffee, unless you're a vampire."

Nicole Nazario didn't turn red. Her handsome olive skin paled slightly, however, and she swallowed hard. "S-so there is."

"Ms Nazario, if you're innocent, there's no need to lie," Storms pressed on. "So, what happened?"

"I… uh…" Nazario seemed to be looking for a way out of this mistake.

"So, what happened?" Storms repeated, leaning forward on the bench. "What _really_ happened, Ms Nazario!?"

"I-"

"You want to know what I think happened? I think you killed Zachary Nimh and tried to frame my client."

"What?!"

"If that didn't happen, prove it didn't!"

"… I can't. But I didn't do it! He did! He killed Zach! I saw him standing over his body with the murder weapon, just after hearing Zach's body hit the ground! There's no time for anyone else to do it!"

"Unless you're lying."

"**_Objection!_**" Payne's shrill, whiny voice interrupted anything else Storms had to say. "Your Honour, Ms Storms is clearly badgering the witness."

_You're always badgering me, yet I don't complain. And you harass the weaker-willed witnesses. Don't think I don't know that you slimy, pathetic excuse for a prosecutor_.

"Yes, Ms Storms, I think you should calm down," the Judge agreed. "Please refrain from accusing the witnesses of murder. That's a very, very serious accusation to make and should not be made as lightly as you are."

"… Yes, Your Honour," Storms said through gritted teeth, throwing a hateful glare at Payne. "My apologies."

Payne only simpered. "You should be ashamed."

"Let's get back to the main topic, which is this case," said Storms icily. "We're here to determine my client's guilt, are we not? I'd like to have this witness explain what happened to her coffee, since there's no evidence it existed in this photo which, by her testimony, there should be. She stated she dropped it _twice_ now. So, _where is it_?"

"I dropped it. I swear I dropped my coffee."

"Then where is it?"

"I… must have cleaned it up. Or Tibby did."

"I don't think so. There were no coffee-soaked fabric nor napkins anywhere. If that were the case, there should be something like that, don't you think?"

"Gh… ah… well…"

"Strike two. So, what's your new story?"

"I must… have dropped it outside the room! Yes, now I remember, I remember distinctly dropping my coffee before I walked into the room!"

Storms sighed, shaking her head. "No, I'm afraid you didn't do that. For one, there was no coffee on scene when the law enforcement arrived, and for another, you couldn't have dropped it before entering the room, because you wouldn't have seen the crime scene. You know as well as I that there's currently a plastic tarp hanging down in the doorway because of the remodelling at the studio. You can even see part of it pushed back in this photo."

Yet again, she held up the crime scene photo. "There was also no coffee on the ground when Mr Shields and I showed up to the crime scene, and no signs that the cement had ever been wet. Yet…"

She paused, thinking back to the investigation. "I did think I'd smelt coffee while I was in there."

"That's because I _dropped my coffee_!"

Storms frowned to herself. She was very insistent about this coffee, it seemed. _Possibly because going to fetch it is her alibi. But it's not getting it that she's insistent about, it's the fact that she dropped it. Why is she insisting she dropped it, when there's no evidence except my possibly faulty memory of smelling coffee at the crime scene? And who's to say I wasn't smelling someone else's coffee?_

"Boss," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth. "Did you smell coffee while we were investigating?"

"I did. And I don't recall anyone having any," he said, flipping through his notepad. "The smell was rather faint for that."

Storms sighed, examining the crime scene photo, giving a slight jump, accompanied by a slightly shaky gasp and her arms shaking slightly when she found the evidence when she was looking for. _Why is there blood under him!? There shouldn't be. Not enough to pool a little like that nor even be that far down his back. It can't be blood. It has to be… it has to be…_

"**_Objection!_**" she leant forward eagerly, losing her composure in her excitement. Shields looked at her appraisingly. "I think I figured something out!"

"What?" Payne sneered.

"The coffee!" Storms held up the photograph again. "It's in this photo!"

"I told you," scoffed Nazario. "I dropped coffee."

"Yes, you did, but not when and where you said you did," Storms said, holding out the photo and pointing at the dark stain under the victim's body. "It's right there."

Nazario's eyes widened, and both Payne and the Judge picked up their own photos to look.

"That's just blood," snapped Payne, but Storms shook her head. "There shouldn't be blood down there on his body, Mr Payne. The blood that came out of the wound is spreading around on the opposite side of his body, and upwards. Logically speaking, that's not _blood_. It's probably Ms Nazario's coffee."

"It can't be. She dropped it in the shock of witnessing a murder!"

"I don't think so. If that's coffee, and I'm sure it is, then things happened in a different order," Storms said. "Didn't they, Ms Nazario?"

She looked frightened. "I…"

"Ms Nazario."

"I didn't kill him!" Nazario said pleadingly, staring at Storms and Shields. "I know you're thinking I did, but it wasn't me! I swear it! Please!"

"Then why is your dropped coffee under his body!?"

"I…" Nazario swallowed hard. "May I… may I give another testimony? About what happened?"

"You may," the Judge said, then added in a surprisingly firm tone, "but only if you tell the truth and nothing but the truth."

"Yes, Your Honour… Just like I said, we had a break in the filming, and everyone but Tibby and Zach went to get coffee. When I came back, they were arguing."

"**_Hold it!_** Arguing? What were they arguing about?"

"The way something was pronounced in the script, I think," Nazario said. "Zach and Tibby were really good friends, but they both had really bad tempers. They were _always_ arguing about something and it was nearly always something stupid. Then, ten seconds later, they'd be getting along just great, no matter how angry they got with each other."

"How angry would you say they were this time?" Payne asked with thinly-veiled eagerness.

"Zach looked like he was going to hit Tibby, so I grabbed him from behind to stop him; I dropped my coffee then."

"**_Hold it!_** The victim looked like he was going to hit the defendant?"

Nazario nodded. "Whenever Zach would get angry, he was prone to hitting things. We, Zach included, used to joke about how because his character keeps in his emotions, Zach compensated by being very outward with his emotions."

"The victim looked very physically powerful, yet you grabbed him?"

"Ms Storms, understand that I am not a weak woman. I am more than capable of holding my own. Besides… like I said, their fights never lasted long. Usually all they needed was a reminder of their surroundings to come out to their argument, and usually someone in the cast was enough to calm them down."

"All right. What happened after that?"

"They stopped fighting, and when I was sure things were all right, I went to go get another coffee," she explained.

"**_Hold it!_** You left them alone?"

"Well, of course. As I said, they'd fight one minute then go back to being the best of friends the very next moment like the fight had never happened. I figured everything was okay, and honestly, I wasn't thinking too straight because I was exhausted. That's why I wanted to go get myself a coffee. I was going to get the boys coffees too, but Tibby doesn't like coffee, and Zach didn't drink coffee because of the caffeine. Anyway… I was on the other side of the sound stage when I heard this crash then a thump, so I went back to see what happened. When I got inside, Tibby was standing over Zach, and Zach was dead."

"**_Hold it!_** The other side of the sound stage?"

She nodded. "I was around the back side of the room."

"I thought sound stages were built so they were soundproof?"

"I don't actually know if they are or not," Nazario admitted. "But I heard a thump from the room beside me. They must not be that soundproof if they are. Perhaps the construction interfered?"

Storms gave a brief, almost psychotic, even demonic smile. _Gotcha. And just when I was starting to worry for my record_.

"You know, I find that hard to believe," Storms said. "Ms Nazario, how long would you say you've been acting?"

"Mh, ever since I was seven," Nazario said. "So… you know my age, and a lady never reveals her age unless she must. So, you do the maths, Ms Storms."

"And yet," Storms said, bringing up a digital map on her CR-System. "You don't know that all soundstages are built to be sound_proof?_"

Nazario seemed to pale again, cringing. Storms pounced on this like a tiger to its prey. "So, how did you hear such a soft noise as a thump in a soundproof room? Clear on the opposite side of it, too! I'm afraid I'm not quite buying your story. You've made a lot of mistakes, Nazario. I've seen mistakes like this. Usually, the murderer is the one making them."

She felt Shields put a hand on her forearm as if to hold her back, and Storms shook his hand off her. "How did you know something had happened?! You couldn't hear it. Certainly you couldn't _see_ it. Nazario! Answer me!"

"I didn't kill him!"

"I think you did," Storms fired back. "After all, you don't get paid nearly as much as they do. Money is always a motive. Jealousy, too; you know what they say about a woman scorned. Maybe it was an accident, and you decided to let my client take the fall? Talk!"

"I didn't do anything! Honest!" Nazario said tearfully. "I swear, I heard a thump, so I went to look in the soundstage!"

"That's impossible! Soundstages are designed to be sound_proof_. Lies don't hold up well in court, in fact, it's against our rules, and the rules in here are law. Do you know what we call lying on the stand, Ms Nazario?"

"N-no."

"Perjury. We don't like perjury," Storms glared at Nazario. Again, Shields pulled Storms back and was ignored. "Perjury keeps us from the truth."

Nazario took a few tiny, shuddering breaths, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Fine. You win."

"What?" Payne asked.

"She wins," Nazario said. "I… I killed Zach."

"You… what?" there was a look of mingled disbelief and something Storms couldn't even begin to guess on Shields' face.

"I did it! I killed him!" Nazario sounded hysterical. "I killed Zach. I was a fan of the original series, you know. The idea of our characters together sickens me. It seems so wrong. It was never part of the original show! But all anyone cares about is romance, so they added in an official couple! So, I killed Zach to get rid of it!"

There was some murmuring of agreement in the audience, and rather predictably, there were also angry shouts and much louder agreements than the murmurs, though it seemed to Storms that the negative crowd wasn't exactly angry for the right reasons, and were wishing that Nazario was the dead one because her character was in the way of something _else_. It took the Judge a long time to bring the court to order over what Storms called a sea of raging fans. Shields stood beside her, sighing periodically and looking mildly ashamed. Twice Storms heard him mutter something about the fans.

"So you confess to the murder?" asked the Judge for conformation.

"Yes."

"… Very well. Bailiff?"

One bailiff took away Nazario, who for a split second, Storms noticed was looking thoroughly depressed and pleading, but it became haughty when she caught Storms' eye. Williams was brought up, looking very pale and very confused to receive his sentence. He looked as if he couldn't quite piece together what had happened, or perhaps he simply couldn't understand that Nazario was the killer.

_Truth be told… I don't think she is. But she's a liar, and that's enough for me. As long as it's not my client being taken away, I don't care who gets put away_.

Shields was very quiet while the Judge talked to Williams, and Storms could feel his eyes on her. She looked at him out of the corner of her own eyes, eyebrow raised. His grey eyes were boring into her with deep dislike.

"What?" she asked when court was dismissed, still not looking at him directly.

"… You might not be doing anything illegal, but I don't like your methods," Shields said. "I can't give you a fair reason to leave my law firm, but know that if I catch you doing anything illegal, Lorraine Storms, you will be no longer with us. The only reason I don't fire you is you're good and you do your job. Quit with the scare tactics."

"I don't like your serious side," Storms said, packing away her briefcase. "I liked you better when you were flirting shamelessly and asking me redundant questions."

Shields stood there for a long moment, then turned and left the courtroom. Storms allowed herself another little grin.

_I win_.


	4. Turnabout Symphony

A note: I actually do have concept art of all of the characters that aren't canon (including the witnesses). Maybe I'll one day get around to posting them on my deviantart. Also, originally I was going to post each case in whole, but that would take me a long, long time to write each chapter, so instead it's going to come up in parts, separated by Investigation/Trial sessions.

**- **Three – Turnabout Symphony** -**

**13 December, 2028. 9:45 PM**

Everything was going exactly as planned that night. True, he hadn't seen the band since dinner, but he could hear them onstage. He glanced at his clipboard, chewing absently on the already mangled end of his pen. Yes, they were on track, too. Everything was going smoothly, he thought to himself as he watched Contessa exit the stage, setting her microphone to the side. She didn't even notice him as she passed, sticking her hands in the cooler full of ice and water bottles and pressing her hands to her face.

"So hot…" she mumbled, sitting on the ground and resting her back against the metallic leg of the table behind her. "Yay for breaks…"

She downed an entire bottle of water in one gulp, slumping against the table leg. She glanced up. "Oh. Nigel. Hi."

"You'll need to visit makeup now," Nigel said, pointing his pen at her. "After slapping that water over your face."

"I did not slap water on my face," she snapped. "It's hot out on that stage!"

"And to compensate for that, you slapped cold water on your face. Makeup. Now. It's nice and air conditioned."

Contessa threw her empty water bottle at him grumpily, taking out a second one. Nigel glared at her.

"Don't throw things. Take your water and get to makeup. Then go to costuming. You can relax after you're ready for the next song. And drink it slower."

"Stop telling me what to do!" Contessa fumed. She was hot, she was tired, she really was starting to feel sick from the heat; she didn't need him ordering her around.

"It's my job to make sure this all goes smoothly," his tone wasn't nearly as snobby as she interpreted it. "Contessa, please go to makeup and costuming."

Contessa muttered something very rude under her breath and got to her feet. Her legs felt like gelatine after being able to sit for the short period of time. Nigel watched her walk off. A few minutes later, he heard a loud banging sound from the end of a hallway ahead. He raised an eyebrow and peered down it. A door had been taken straight off of its hinges, and from this far away, he could make out a long mane of hair, though the colour was hard to discern due to the darkness of the hall. He recognised the outfit, however, and felt a pang of annoyance.

"Contessa!" he barked. "What are you doing!?"

Contessa glanced at him, then raced up the stairs behind her. Growing frustrated, Nigel chased after her. The stairs, it seemed, led to the lighting above the stage. It was slightly dusty up here, and surprisingly dark despite the large amount of lighting below him. Nigel slowed to a walk as he looked around through the gloom. He could make out the shapes of beams here and there, but he couldn't see Contessa anywhere. He opened his mouth to call for her. Before he could make a sound, he heard something stir behind him, and as he turned, he felt something smooth drop around his neck and tighten at once. Nigel choked, his fingers scrabbling at the cord around his throat as the person throttling him moved behind him, completely out of his sight. All he caught of the woman was a corner of her costume and the fragrance of something he couldn't quite place.

"I'm so sorry. I have to do this," she whispered. "I have no choice."

He choked, feeling his consciousness slipping away.

"You must always be on your guard, or he'll catch you with his magical lasso…" the woman's voice was shaking slightly, her words hard to hear over the sound below them. "Those who speak of what they know find too late that prudent silence is wise. Keep your hand at the level of your eyes."


	5. Turnabout Symphony - Investigation Day 1

.

**- Turnabout Symphony – ****_Investigation Day 1_** -

**14 December, 10:03 AM**

**Wright Anything Agency**

Apollo Justice was searching for his pen, and had the sneaking suspicion Trucy had yet again taken it for one of her magic tricks or for school. He sighed, sitting back in his desk and staring at the paperwork resting neatly on his desk. After a minute or so, he stood up, walked over to Athena's desk, and took a pen out of the cup there, testing the colour of the ink on a post-it note. After five attempts, he found one that had black ink. He'd put it back later; he just wished Athena had normal-looking pens like everyone else, rather than these garish, cutesy ones, or at the very least, Trucy would stop taking his. He felt stupid using them. He sat back at his desk and began the paperwork, occasionally glancing up at the clock.

He was alone in the office that day, since Athena and Trucy were off investigating a crime scene, and Mr Wright had court that day. Left alone to do paperwork for his last case, Apollo was very bored, though the silence was somewhat merciful. He could concentrate easier without a great deal of noise, though he spend much of his time in the silent office absently humming or singing to himself. Apollo slid the papers away when he was finally done with them, relaxing back against his chair and flexing his fingers, which felt as cramped as they had done when he'd been forced to take the all-important state and national tests in school. At least once, back in third grade, for some unexplained reason (or not for a reason he could recall), they'd had to do a standardised test from an entirely different state. He allowed his mind to wander back to state mandated standardised testing, particularly the English tests.

"Are you… Is this the Wright and Co Law Offices?"

Apollo jumped, sitting up and nearly falling out of his seat. Standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway were three women, all dressed rather neatly for the unfavourably cold weather and all three were almost inhumanely beautiful. The girl standing more to the front repeated her question, stepping forward again.

"Yes. Well, sort of," Apollo said, standing up. "This is the Wright Anything Agency, but we do offer legal help. Is there something I can help you with?"

The girl exchanged looks with the other two. "We're a part of a band, one of our members is in a bit of legal trouble. We need a lawyer."

Apollo nodded slowly. "What happened?"

"Contessa, our bassist, was accused of killing our manager, Nigel." _That was blunt_.

"Isn't that always how it goes?" Apollo asked before he could stop himself.

"Contessa didn't kill anyone," piped up one of the girls in a light Celtic accent. "She wouldn't. That's just… not how she works. And Nigel was so nice; I can't imagine why Contessa would kill him. Can you help her? The case has so far been kept out of the media, but I can't see _that_ lasting long."

Apollo hesitated for a moment. "I'll think about it; I'd be willing to speak with her, in any case. I'll make my decision then."

The three girls beamed at him. "Wonderful! Thank you!"

Apollo held out a hand. "My name is Apollo Justice. Attorney at Law."

One of the girls giggled, while the first of them shook his hand. "Eve. These are my band mates, Autumn and Ylena."

Apollo nodded, making a mental note. "Nice to meet you."

Ylena was tall, slender and blonde, and hadn't said a single word so far. Her gaze was fixed on the window over his shoulder, watching the snow falling outside. She looked rather like an ice queen in her white faux fur wrap and cool gaze. She glanced at Apollo with one eyebrow raised, then resumed her staring out the window. Autumn's long, almost orange hair was up in a loose French plait, where strands of it were falling out. She was leaning casually against the heater, humming to herself and miming playing a violin. Eve's brown hair was cut far shorter than that of her band mates, but the short cut suited her. She seemed unused to it, however, as she kept running a hand through her hair as if it were a great deal longer. She glanced at the clock a few times.

"Mr Justice," she said after a moment. "Would you care to meet her? She-that detective- said she should be out by now from her questioning."

"I would," he said, moving around his desk to get his coat and scarf. "Thank you."

Eve shook her head. "No, Mr Justice; it is _us_ who must thank _you_."

**14 December, 11:27 AM**

**Detention Centre**

Contessa was as beautiful as her band mates, with very long jet black hair. She had a haughty look to her that vanished the moment she saw her band mates and was replaced with relief. "You found him? Mr Wright?"

"Not exactly, Tess; this is Apollo Justice," Eve explained. "He works for Mr Wright."

"Justice?" Contessa frowned. "Apollo Justice… that rings a bell."

"He's You-Know-Who's friend," Autumn said in a stage whisper, glancing at Ylena. Ylena narrowed her eyes slightly but said nothing.

_You-Know-Who? Who do I know that would know these girls?_

"Oh!" Contessa's eyes widened. "That's it. Nice to meet you. And, uh, thanks. For coming all the way down here."

Apollo gave a small shrug. "I haven't decided if I'll take your case yet."

Contessa grinned; clearly the fact that he hadn't decided anything yet didn't bother her. "You're a star just for hearing me out, Mr Justice. Well, I suppose you want to know what happened before you choose."

"Yes, I do."

"Two nights ago, we arrived here for our concerts. Nigel was alive then, but… well, it wasn't good. In the middle of our concert last night, when I had a bit of a break, Nigel just… dropped down in the centre of the stage on a noose made out of an electrical cord. It was _scary_. I was watching it from backstage."

"We arrived in town two nights ago," Contessa began. "Of course, Nigel was alive then. He was alive yesterday, too, until the middle of the concert. I had a break at the time, because the two pieces we were playing didn't require me, and I was backstage for something like ten or fifteen minutes before… well, it wasn't pretty. I heard screaming from the stage and went to find out what happened, and there was Nigel, hanging from the ceiling on an electrical cord. It was just a mess after that."

"It was," Eve agreed. "People began to panic, until Ylena got them to calm down. Still, most people were fleeing. When we called it in, your detectives arrested Contessa."

"Well, it wasn't just the fact that I wasn't the only one not onstage," Contessa admitted. "My prints are on the cord, and the only ones on it. It was apparently the cord for my microphone, which was offstage while I was."

_That is enough of a reason I suppose to pin the murder on her, even though the killer could have just used the nearest electrical cord as a noose or intentionally used this one to frame her, since she's the only band member who could have done it_.

"Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything strange about that night?"

There was a pause as they considered this. "The last we saw Nigel was after dinner, over an hour before the concert," Autumn said. "I remember because nobody could find him after that. We thought maybe he was just busy. We see him about as often as we don't, and even less on concert nights."

"Did any of you see him after that?" Ylena shook her magnificent head at Apollo's question.

"No," Contessa and Eve said together. Apollo immediately felt his bracelet react to the word, but couldn't pinpoint which of them was lying. He switched his gaze between the two, frowning slightly. One of them was lying to him, but which one? After a moment, he sighed.

"All right. Is there anything you can tell me, anything more, about what happened to your manager?"

"No."

Apollo eyed Contessa for a moment. "All right. I'll take your case."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Contessa positively beamed at him. "I know I'm in safe hands with you, if what I've heard is anything to believe."

"And just what have you heard?"

"Nothing but good, I assure you," Eve winked. "We seem to have a mutual friend, and he has nothing but praise for you."

On their way out of the detention centre, they bumped into Mr Wright and Trucy, both of whom looked amused at Apollo's entourage, especially Autumn, who had quite literally bumped into them.

"Sorry!" Autumn said, catching the papers she'd knocked out of Wright's hands. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he assured her. "Thank you."

Autumn smiled at him, stepping away. Apollo glanced between them.

"Trucy, I thought you were with Athena?"

"I was," Trucy said. "But we kept hitting complications; one of the new detectives won't let her anywhere _near_ the crime scene. So she told me to meet up with Daddy and she'd investigate the only lead we had. She said I stick out too much."

_Yeah, well, Athena stick out pretty badly herself_…

"So what brings you here?" Mr Wright asked Apollo.

"Our friend," Eve said. "She's been accused of murder, and we've asked Mr Justice to defend her."

"I see, I see," Phoenix said. "Any idea who the prosecution is?"

"… Not exactly. I only just accepted the case a few minutes ago. We're heading to the crime scene now."

_I wonder if she'll be waiting for me there. She always seems to prosecute opposite me now_.

Franziska von Karma had taken a very keen interest in him ever since their first case together. She seemed to take every opportunity to prosecute opposite him since February, and hand him his defeat when possible (which, sometimes, she actually did do). Phoenix Wright told him to maintain caution when facing her, and it took Apollo only five minutes after meeting her to know why.

_She's like snow_, Apollo thought, glancing outside._ Cold, difficult, and prolonged exposure usually results in injury_.

"Mr Apollo Justice!"

"Ahh!" he yelped, spinning around and finding himself face-to-face with the very object of his absent-minded thoughts. She looked extremely displeased, her arms folded and leaning forward slightly towards him, eyes narrowed more than usual. "M-Ms von Karma!"

"Mr Apollo Justice, it seems I won't be seeing you in court tomorrow," she sniffed haughtily and threw Mr Wright an arrogant little look. "As I am already assigned to prosecute opposite a fool of an attorney. One more foolish than you!"

"And here I thought that wasn't possible," Apollo said dryly, leaning away from her. "Why are you telling me this? And why are you even _here?_"

She straightened up, looking as if she didn't quite know herself for a moment. "You should feel disappointment that you do not have the privilege of facing me in court this time," she pointed at him, her gloved fingertip an inch from his nose. Apollo crossed his eyes to keep it in view. "But next time, I _will_ defeat you. I will give you the honour of another defeat. Your win last week was but a chance of fate, a fluke."

Franziska stood there for a moment, smirking, then lowered her hand, pushed past him and Trucy, and walked out of the detention centre. Apollo sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why does she always have to act like that? And why does she always act like I defeat her on accident? And why didn't she answer my other question?"

"Because that's how she is," Mr Wright shrugged. "She's not _quite_ as bad as she was when I met her."

"Exactly _who_ was that?" asked Eve.

"Her name's Franziska von Karma. She's a prosecutor from Germany," Apollo gave a small shrug. "Though as you heard, she's not prosecuting for this case. Which is good news for us, because she's a tough fight. Still…"

_Still, with her, we can find the truth. I've never felt like I really earned my 'victories', I suppose, against Prosecutor Gavin, but with her, she really puts me through hoops to get my client acquitted… when I do. She's as unhelpful as possible, unlike Prosecutor Gavin who pursues the truth. True, she does seem to care about the truth, but she still doesn't like _losing_..._.

"She doesn't seem very nice."

"She's…" Apollo hesitated, considering what to say about her. "She's quite… You get used to her, at any rate."

"I never got used to her mannerisms."

"I've worked with her a lot more than you have in the past year. You've only dealt with her three times in almost ten years, where I've worked with her about three times a month since February," Apollo reminded him. "Two different cases that dealt with spirit channelling, wasn't it? The second one she actually _helped_ you. You also worked with her when that ringmaster was killed. It makes sense that I'd be used to her and you wouldn't."

"Four," Mr Wright corrected him, arching his eyebrows slightly. "I worked with her on four cases. Including _that_ case. She helped me then, too."

Apollo knew what the edge in his tone was about. There was a long, very awkward silence, where Apollo, Trucy, and Mr Wright avoided looking at one another. Eve twice opened her mouth as they stood in silence, obviously to ask what case Mr Wright had been talking about, but both times decided against it. Trucy eventually suggested that they leave, and asked if she could accompany Apollo and the girls to the crime scene. Mr Wright agreed, taking his leave and following Franziska outside, saying something about his own investigation at Gourd Lake.

"Shall we leave?" Autumn asked, pointing at the door. "The bus should be here soon, according to my schedule. Which is a pity, because as I recall that very nice bakery we had lunch at yesterday is right around this area. I was hoping we could take Tess something. Maybe later, tá?"

**14 December, 12:35 PM**

**City Bus**

Apollo, having finished entering all the new data into his CR-System sat with his fingers interlaced, staring absently at an advertisement above Ylena's head for home insurance, thinking about the case. As it was, he knew almost nothing about it, which would put him at a severe disadvantage tomorrow, unless he found some reasonably good evidence at the crime scene. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time he went in blind to a case, but it wasn't what he'd call a good feeling. Apollo gave a tiny sigh. At least Contessa was reasonably normal, compared to most of his clients. In light of some of his more recent cases, it was almost suspicious that she was so… vague. Immediately, he reprimanded himself for not trusting Contessa. After all, she said she didn't do it, and he hadn't sensed a lie in that. His quiet brooding was interrupted by a girl's voice. Apollo tended to pay attention these days to small, nervous voices. As of late, they belonged to people needing legal help. This time, however, it belonged to a young woman no older than Apollo himself, sporting rainbow-coloured hair and a sky-blue coat edged with warm-looking white fluff. She had her hands in the pockets of this coat, and her eyes were on Eve, Ylena, and Autumn. She looked away when she realised they'd noticed. Around her neck was a lanyard with a pass attached to it, though the blank side was facing out right now. The bus stopped abruptly, knocking over most of the people standing, including the girl. She landed sprawled cross Apollo and Trucy before tumbling to the ground.

"Ow," she mumbled, laying flat on her stomach. According to the back of her jacket, her surname was likely Strich, and on whatever sports team she was on (or had been on), her number was 11. Apollo and Eve pulled her to her feet. The girl brushed herself off, looking slightly awkward.

"Sorry about that," she said in a slightly raspy voice as androgynous as her features. "I'm not usually that clumsy."

There was a cocky edge to her voice, and the nervousness she'd displayed earlier was clearly trying in vain to be squashed. There was a little dirt on her cheek from when she'd fallen on the ground. Strich had sharp, angular, and rather boyish features, and reminded Apollo dimly of a girl Clay had 'dated' when they were in junior high school. Strich sat down beside Apollo as the man sitting there got up to depart. She eyed Apollo for a moment, then turned her gaze back to the band members, playing with the pass around her neck. From what Apollo could glean, it was a backstage pass for a concert. At least, it reminded him of the one prosecutor Klavier Gavin had given him and Trucy two years ago.

"May I see that?"

"Huh?" Strich looked up at him. "This?" she held up the pass, then handed it to him, still around her neck.

The backstage pass was indeed for a concert, and indeed the one for last night to get into a concert for a band called The Beautiful Elite. _Ah. So that's their band's name. Rather fitting, considering_, Apollo glanced at the band members sitting across from him. They had the kind of beauty found only in fictional royalty. Apollo turned his gaze back to the pass. According to it, this girl's name was Arcus Strich. _Weird name, but then again, I have no right to judge on peoples' names, considering_.

"Thank you," he said, dropping the badge, where it fell into place again.

"No problem," she said. Strich sat back in her seat, playing with a lock of bright yellow hair. "Can I ask why they're on the bus? I saw them get on with you, so I presume they're with you."

"We're going back to the concert hall," Eve said. "Autumn forgot her bow."

Apollo admired her lying skills despite himself. He didn't even get a reaction from his bracelet. He sincerely hoped he'd never have to face her on the witness stand. Beside him, Strich shifted uncomfortably and made a small noise of affirmation. She turned her gaze to the window and watched the scenery pass by and said nothing until she got off three stops later. Eve glanced out the window behind Apollo and noted that their stop was next. Apollo nodded absently. He knew this, though he didn't think bands generally performed at the concert hall in question. Symphonic bands and orchestras, perhaps, but he didn't think anything else performed there. The kind of music one sat down to listen to, rather than swarming to the stage, getting caught in the centre of a dense, hot crowd and getting sick from being overheated more than you would on the stage itself from how hot the lighting could get. Then again, Apollo had never set foot inside the hall, either, and on entering, felt that the carpeting was truly at odds with the elegant architecture inside. He had been expecting solid-coloured burgundy carpeting, not the brightly patterned, abstract kind that reminded him distinctly of when Trucy had left a packet of gummy bears on the window sill back in July.

**14 December. 12:35 PM**

**W.D. Concert Hall  
Concert Hall**

The concert hall was swarming with police when they found their way to the stage, and the hall was not as well lit as Apollo had thought it would be. Sitting on the edge of the stage, predictably munching on Snackoos, was Detective Ema Skye, conversing with a mahogany-haired police officer. The officer looked out of breath and very desperate, even from this far away. Skye reached into her bag as she spotted Apollo, and pointed over the officer's shoulder at him, a fresh Snackoo in her hand. The officer turned around, and a look of relief washed over her face. She rushed forward, past Apollo and Trucy (and knocking Apollo sideways into a row of seats). Apollo heard a soft _tch_ sound from one of the band members.

"There you are!" she said breathlessly. "I've been looking for you all morning!"

"What a coincidence; we've been avoiding you all morning, Officer Guy."

Officer Guy clearly did not appreciate Eve's icy tone, judging on the irritated sound she made. Apollo picked himself up off the ground with some difficulty, the back of his waistcoat getting stuck on a bolt holding a chair down, and felt it tear. Ignoring Officer Guy and Eve's arguing, he slipped out of his waistcoat to look at the back of it. Somewhat luckily, it had torn along the seam, which meant a repair would be completely invisible. Rather unluckily, still, it was torn, and the satin was fraying rather quickly.

"Trucy?"

"What is it, Polly?"

"Did you bring your sewing kit today?"

"Nope. Sorry… did you rip your suit?"

"Yeah," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh well. You can fix it when we get back to the office, can't you?"

"Of course."

"Thank…s…?" he blinked and leaned back slightly as a snow white hand fell into his gaze, held out rather expectantly by Ylena. "Huh?"

Ylena gave her hand a little shake and an impatient (yet oddly silent) sigh. Questioningly, Apollo handed her his waistcoat. Ylena sat down in one of the seats and pulled a small sewing kit out of her inner pocket. When neither Apollo nor Trucy moved after that, she pointed at the stage, obviously telling them to start investigating.

"Thank you, Ylena," She merely nodded, selecting a needle. Apollo made his way over to Detective Skye, with Trucy in tow. Skye was now laying flat on her stomach, closely examining something on the ground, her pink glasses firmly in place.

"What are you doing?"

She held up a hand, telling him to be quiet. She picked something up with a pair of tweezers, sat up and pushed her glasses back on top of her head.

"Ha! There you are," she said triumphantly, dropping whatever it was in a narrow plastic vial and corking it with a small plastic cork. She sighed, resting her hands on her knees and looking at Apollo. "What?"

"Uh… what are you doing?"

"Looking for evidence," she said.

"And what did you pick up?"

"This," she said, holding up the vial, inside which Apollo could see a few strands of something green. "It kept catching the light, but it's not easy to see when you're looking for it up close. Not in this dimly lit room. I keep asking for them to turn the lights up, but nobody on staff is listening to me. So, I'm making do with the lighting they've given us."

She stood up, brushing herself off. "I can't even imagine how he got up in the ceiling up there."

Skye pointed at the ceiling before continuing to brush dust off of her lab coat. "There's not exactly _rafters_."

"No, there's not," Apollo said, looking around the stage. There were about a hundred chairs and stands set out, and a conductor's podium. "Is this exactly how the concert hall looked last night?"

"Of course," Skye said, raising her eyebrows. "Why?"

"I just…" he pointed back at the girls. "Band?"

"Yeah," she said. "The Beautiful Elite is a four-member band, who perform alongside orchestras around this time of year. I suppose I can explain…"

"So who are The Beautiful Elite?"

"Ylena Yeliashkevych, vocalist and harpist. Autumn McDavid, who plays the violin and sets up the story frame from the piano. Eve Vivaldi-Santos, who plays all sorts of percussion instruments. Then there's the defendant, Contessa Tam, who plays the bass, both standing and electric. They're a four-person orchestra when they play without the aid of other orchestras. Here."

She handed him a magazine. "It'll tell you about them. Page 42."

"Thanks," Apollo said, handing it to Trucy, who immediately began to read. "Find anything out?"

"Nope," she said. "But I've barely begun my own investigation."

She held up her bottle of Luminol and her tin of fingerprinting powder. "Forensics still hasn't gotten here, though. Wanna help?" her eyes sparkled with the kind of childlike glee that Apollo rarely saw in her, and never saw when she wasn't talking about forensic science.

"Sure," he said, taking a pair of gloves from her and the fingerprinting kit. "This is always fun."

"Yes, it is!" Skye said, her eyes shining. "The only thing that's been printed is the cord, and that's because it was taken straight to forensics. Nothing else has been checked."

_Why don't they just promote her to forensics? She's clearly a lot more on the ball than the actual forensics teams. Can they do that? Promote her there? Somehow I don't think so.._.

**14 December, 12:48 PM**

**W.D. Concert Hall  
Backstage**

Apollo wasn't sure what to start dusting. There was no point in dusting anything on the stage, since all of it were things that there would likely be a lot of prints on. He wandered backstage, Trucy following him while still reading the article. Backstage was very narrow and cluttered, with spare chairs stacked along the far wall, and carts with stands parked beside them. Unlike the theatre itself, this room was rather cold in both feeling and appearance. Apollo made his way to a door on his far left, which bore the identification CL01. He crouched down in front of the door knob and dusted it. It had been wiped clean, except for a partial print on the back of the handle. A quick glance at the finger print samples Skye had given him showed it didn't belong to any of them. Apollo felt himself smile slightly, turning his gaze to the lock. There were fresh-looking scratches around the lock, and he noticed something protruding out of the lock when he took a photo, and the something caught in the light. Apollo frowned, pulling a small penlight out of his pocket and shining its light on the lock. He brushed his fingers over whatever it was, and felt his glove snag on it. It didn't budge.

_Whatever's in there is wedged in there very tightly_, he thought, sitting back on his heels and frowning at the lock. He tested the door, but found it predictably locked. The wooden frame of the door was cracked, and the crack, too, looked fresh, due to the colour of the wood that had been revealed.

"Why is the door frame cracked?" he murmured to himself, tracing the crack with his finger. He stood up and examined the hinges on a hunch, and found more scrape marks around them. _Ah, that explains it. Whoever was determined to get up these stairs probably broke the doorframe trying to get in. At least, that's my guess_.

"What kind of room do you think CL01 is?" he asked Trucy, who shrugged, a cheery smile on her face.

"I don't know, but I'd like to find out!" she said, her hands behind her back as she bounced slightly on her toes. "I bet it's exciting. Or at least helpful."

"Locked doors often seem to have helpful things behind them, especially if they show three different signs of being forced open," Apollo said, indicating the door. "It can't be unlocked, either. The lock's jammed."

"With what?"

"Something metallic," Apollo said. "But we can't do anything about it right now."

Truth be told, he was just as eager as her to see what was behind the door. Only a small sliver, something that wouldn't be easy to grasp without tweezers or pliers, stuck out of the lock. Skye would have something like that, but she was nowhere to be found. Apollo made note of the door in his CR-System and entered the mysterious fingerprint. He walked back up the hallway, looking around for something to dust that wouldn't be impossible to lift a clear print from. The next hallway was considerably more narrow due to crates of props stacked on the ground. Apollo glanced at them curiously, wondering what props were doing here, absently ducking under a fallen backdrop and hearing Trucy yelp as she knocked her hat off on it. He found Detective Skye looking mingled confused and excited at an electrical cord, surrounded by small vials and containers.

"Detective?"

"Hi," she said, holding out her bag. "I need a swab."

"Excuse me?!"

She gave him a thoroughly deadpan look. "They're orange vials with cotton swabs in them. They're for testing blood samples and similar things. I need one."

"Oh," Apollo rummaged among what looked like a bottomless bag of forensics things, holding up an orange vial with a black cap. "This?"

"Yes. Hand me the swab half," she held up her hand. Apollo handed it to her, and she ran the cotton swab over a spot on the cord, then held out the swab, ordering him to put it in the tube without touching it. Apollo solved this by just sticking the orange tube onto it while she was holding it. Skye made a noise that might have been a laugh, if Apollo didn't know perfectly well that she never laughed.

"Thank you," she said. "Label it for me, would you? For a man you actually have nice handwriting. Unlike that glimmerous _fop_ and his illegible scrawl."

Apollo raised an eyebrow as he searched her disorganised bag for a pen. "Is he prosecuting?"

"_Yes_," she placed a sharp emphasis on the last sound.

Apollo sat down on the ground and paused. "What do you want me to _write?_"

"Oh. SL… Uh…" she paused to think, then flinched. "Apollo, how many vials say SL on them in my bag?"

"Uh… eight," he said, counting them. "So SL-9?"

"… Yes."

_Why the pause? Is she okay?_

"What does that stand for, anyway?" he glanced towards the stage. "Oh. Stage left?"

"Yes," she said. "This is the room to the immediate stage left of the, well, stage, so that's what the map calls this room."

"I… am going to go look for evidence."

"Why haven't you done any dusting?" she demanded.

"I dusted a door down the hall, but everything back here should be covered in prints."

"What door?"

"Look down the hallway down that way and you'll see what I'm talking about," he said. "Which reminds me, do you have tweezers I can borrow?"

"Tweezers? Why?" she sat up at last, pushing her glasses down to examine him over them. "Please tell me you're going to do something about those eyebrows of yours."

"Uh, no," Apollo said, brushing a hand over one eyebrow and scowling. "There's something lodged in the lock of the door I mentioned. Can't get it out to see what it is."

"Really?" Skye sat back on her haunches, gazing at him quizzically. "What is it?"

"I don't know. It's small and metallic."

"It's probably a fragment of a bobby pin, if it's in a door," she said, losing interest.

"Whatever's behind that door must be important," Trucy said brightly. "Since the door looked so bad."

"Bad?"

"Come and see," Apollo said.

Ema followed them curiously, stumbling on the crates of props. Apollo heard her smack her head on the backdrop and mutter furiously to herself. Apollo, on the other hand, was having no problems navigating the pathway. Trucy yelped when her cape caught on a box, knocking it down.

"Oopsie," she said as its contents spilt all over the ground. Apollo sighed, eyeing the costume props.

"Oh. I think I know what show they're putting on," said Apollo.

"What makes you say that?"

"This, for starters," Apollo said, holding up a mask.

"It only covers the right half of your face," Trucy said doubtfully. "What's the point?"

"Because the character who wears this is hideously deformed," Apollo said, holding the mask up to his face. "He wears the mask to cover his deformities from himself and the world which ostracised him for being born with a malformed face. The story itself is… a lot like _Beauty and the Beast_."

"So does this belong to the lead female?" Trucy asked, holding up a comb. "It's really pretty."

"Well, the story is set in I think the 1800's. That comb looks like it would look a little… out of place. Then again, this is a stage musical, and not everything is done to historical accuracy."

Apollo rotated the comb between his fingers, frowning slightly. It was a very beautiful thing, gold and very ornate with leaves and dozens of minute crystal flowers. The only thing really wrong with it was it was missing one of its teeth. Which, with it being a prop, made perfect sense to Apollo. On the smooth back of the comb, he could see one very clear print. "I'm going to print this. Give me a minute."

Detective Skye and Trucy exchanged looks, but continued picking up the costuming items.

Apollo wasn't sure what about the prop caught his attention, but it did. Something that much to his surprise was entirely justified. The print he lifted was a match for…

"What are your client's prints doing on this prop?" Ema asked

"Well, she was back here…"

"But the box had a lid on it," Trucy said.

Apollo sighed, dropping the comb into an evidence bag. "Well, we'll have to ask her, won't we? Maybe it wasn't closed last night?"

"For now, show me that door," Skye said, setting the crate back where it fell from. "You got me curious."

She pushed past them when they came within sight of the door, her eyes wide. "This door looks like it's been through a tornado."

She crouched before the door, running a hand along the frame. "The frame's broken, the lock is jammed, and pins are barely in the hinges. Someone was really determined to get in here."

"You think?" Apollo asked sarcastically.

His sarcasm went over her head as she sprayed the door with luminol with all the eagerness and enthusiasm of a six year old child at the zoo.

"No blood," she murmured to herself. "Scratches all over..."

"Detective…"

"I wonder what they used to try and get in here? What's with the scratches?"

"Ema…"

"What?"

"Could you get that thing out of the door?"

"What? Oh, the thing in the lock? Okay."

It took Detective Skye a long time to work the thing out of the lock.

"You're mangling it."

"Be quiet. I'm a professional."

Apollo rolled his eyes. "That doesn't stop you from mangling it beyond reason."

"Shut up."

"You're going to break it."

"Fine!" she threw the tweezers at him, hitting him on the nose. Trucy caught them as they fell, and began working at the lock herself.

"Ow…"

"Ah!" Trucy held up the tweezers with the small, flat, and slim metallic object on it. It was thoroughly mangled. She dropped it into her gloved hand and held it out. "I can't tell you what it is, though."

"Neither can I," Skye said, prodding it with her finger before plucking it out of her hand and dropping it into a plastic evidence container, then shaking it around. "Well, a few tests in forensics should tell us. Wish I could do it."

"I'm afraid you can't," all three of them jumped and looked around. A woman sporting a number of pouches around her waist and thighs as well as a white lab coat and goggles, stood behind them with two men. According to a pin on her lapel, she was Professor Ilo Veira, and the head of the forensics department. Apollo stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her appearance. In his opinion, she wouldn't look out of place in a fantasy-based video game with giant yellow birds and skyships.

"What are you doing here?" Skye demanded of the woman, frowning.

"A mistake in the computer, it seems, has put me on field duty. Again."

Skye pouted.

"Now, Skye, hand over the evidence you've taken. You'll be sending it down to me anyway."

Skye's pout increased as she handed over all of her evidence, which Veira stored in the various pouches around her waist. From the pouches on her thighs, she pulled out a handful of jars, tubes, and bags from the forensics division. She handed them to Detective Skye. She looked slightly taken aback, throwing her Professor Veira a puzzled look. "What are these for? I thought you didn't like me getting evidence?"

"These you handed me you bought with your own money. I hate to admit it, kid, but you're not a bad forensic scientist, and are easily the most competent outside my department, and between the six of us, you're more competent than most of my staff."

Skye looked surprised and pleased, tucking the items she'd been given into her bag. "Thank you."

"Now, please excuse us. We have an investigation to go through."

Skye left with Apollo and Trucy, looking irate. Apollo gave a tiny sigh when they were out of earshot.

"They didn't take anything I have."

"You don't have much," Skye reminded him. "Two prints and a comb?"

"Yup. But you never know what it will lead to."

Detective Skye stopped when they reached the end of the stage, and did not jump down after Trucy.

"See you," she said. "I have an investigation to supervise."

"Thanks, Ema."

The three band members were sitting in chairs, looking varying degrees of irate, with the police officer eyeing them. When she spotted Apollo and Trucy, she smiled.

"Oh good, there you are. Now we can leave."

"What?"

Still entirely silent, Ylena held out his repaired vest. Apollo smiled at her, inspecting the stitching. She'd also, it seemed, sewn the buttons on more securely.

"Thank you, Ylena. It looks like it was never torn."

He could have sworn she smiled, but the next moment, she and her band mates were leaving the concert hall. Apollo slipped his vest back on.

"We should head to the detention centre. I want a word with our client without the others around. And I want to ask her about that comb."

**14 December, 2:26 PM.**

**Detention Centre**

"She's in for questioning?! But I have some questions to ask her myself!"

"I'm sorry, hun, but she's busy," the officer behind the desk said, staring at him over her computer. "Come back later, all right?"

Apollo sighed, jabbing at his lower lip with his thumb. "Where to next?"

"We can go back to the concert hall?"

"Not until forensics leaves."

"What about seeing if they'll let us investigate their band bus?"

"I can't see them letting us, Trucy."

"Awh," Trucy sat down on a chair. "You can read this magazine when I'm done. I've just got a few pages left."

Apollo shrugged, and began entering all the data he had into the CR-System, now that it was available for him to access. Not that there was much to add, with all of the data Ema had taken away. Still, he input the door, the magazine, and the comb.

"Polly!" Trucy's voice interrupted his thoughts as he wondered if he had any other data to add to the court record.

"What?"

"Look at this!" She was pointing to a line in one of the interviews. Ylena's, much to Apollo's surprise. He didn't think she talked. He took the magazine from Trucy and read the paragraph she indicated, making a face at the way the interviewer wrote.

_'Contessa and Nigel don't get along?' I asked her, appalled at this new bit of news. Imagine my surprise (and frankly, eagerness), to see her look stunned at her own words, and of course she refused to answer me, stating that it was none of her business, and certainly nor mine to know."_

Apollo frowned at the article, wondering about Nigel and Contessa. They didn't get along? He'd have to ask her what Ylena had meant. Absently, he licked his thumb and turned the page, continuing to read until his shoulder grew sore from her laying on it. "Trucy," he said.

"What?"

"Want to go get lunch?"

"Okay!" she sat up. Apollo rubbed his shoulder where she'd been leaning. "Can we go to the Kitaki's bakery?"

"Sure, why not?" she missed his deadpanned tone.

**14 December, 2028 2:44 PM**

**Kitaki Pastries**

Apollo did enjoy the Kitaki's baking, but he still felt uneasy around them. Their bakery was only a few blocks down from the detention centre. Plum Kitaki was sweeping outside the quaint little fox-themed bakery, greeting them as they approached. There was only one other guest that Apollo could see. He was a man with long brown hair secured back in a ponytail, sporting a long black coat and gloves. He was sat in a corner of the bakery, quietly eating a small container of lemon bars. Apollo guessed he was probably around Mr Wright's age.

"Yo! Shorty! Attorney-man!" Wocky greeted them with his usual tone that suggested he was trying very hard not to be excited to see them. "Long time no see, homie."

Behind him, Apollo heard the man jump and choke on his dessert bar, no doubt startled by Wocky's loud voice. Apollo barely spared him a glance as his coughing calmed. Five minutes later, he and Trucy sat down at a table to enjoy their baked goods. Trucy eyed the man behind Apollo, absently sucking on her fork.

"What?" Apollo glanced at the man whose reflection he could see in the mirror behind the counter. "Trucy?"

"Nothing," she said, picking up another forkful of Kitaki Lime Pie. "He just seems really familiar is all."

"Maybe he's a regular at the Wonder Bar?" Apollo suggested.

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully, prodding her lip with her fork. "There are quite a few people who come to see my shows. I can't remember all of them. Just like with that panty snatcher!"

Apollo choked on his apple turnover. "Please, Trucy, I told you, never mention that again. Ever."

"No, you told me to never mention how you-"

"Trucy! Ix-nay on the anties-pay!"

"Is that even how you say that in pig latin?"

"Yes. I think. I don't know, I've never used it before. But please, never, ever mention that again."

"I can't help it," she said. "Every time we come here, I remember the case. The Kitakis were involved with it, you know."

Apollo sighed, picking at the flaky crust of his turnover. Sweets weren't his idea of a good lunch, but at least they were exceptional sweets. Wocky approached them and set down a box.

"What's this?"

"Dad wanted me to give them to you," he said. "Since you and shorty here try all our new recipes."

Apollo noted that Wocky was again using normal speech, something Apollo knew Wocky had been working on since shortly before his surgery. It was a breath of fresh air for Apollo, who usually didn't understand a word Wocky said to him. Still, he was and had a feeling he would always be "lawyer-man", and Trucy would always be "shorty".

"Thanks, Wocky!" Trucy said brightly, her eyes shining, sliding the box towards here. "What are they?"

"Scotcheroos, I think," Apollo said, looking at the one he'd taken. "One of the older girls at the orphanage used to make them a lot when I was a little kid."

He didn't notice the startled look on Trucy's face, nonchalantly taking a bite of his scotcheroo. "These are really good. Different than I remember, but in a good way."

"I think pops changed around the original recipe, added stuff," Wocky shrugged, sitting down in a spare chair. "Yo, man!"

The man in the corner looked up as Wocky called out to him. Wocky held out the box, leaning on the back legs of his chair. "Want one?"

The man blinked in what Apollo could only assume was bewilderment, seeing as his face was entirely impassive. He got up, closing up his box of lemon bars and taking a scotcheroo. He gave a nod of thanks, taking a bite. Apollo and Trucy both stared at him, slightly transfixed. Before, the right half of his face had been hidden behind a rather ominous-looking vase of flowers and some of his shorter locks of hair hanging in his face, but now that he was near, they could see heavy scarring on the right side of his face, and the fact that he was clearly half-blind. Apollo shivered involuntarily, wondering what could have caused such ugly scarring and blindness.

"They're good," his voice made Trucy jump and look away. He glanced at Apollo and arched his unscarred eyebrow before he turned and left.

"I thought his voice would sound different," Trucy said doubtfully as the door closed.

"Eh," Wocky shrugged. "Whatevs. I'm going back to work. Later, homies. Enjoy your food. I'll tell pops the recipe is a keeper."

He stood up, then noticed the magazine. "Hey. They were here yesterday."

"They?" Apollo glanced at the magazine. "These women?"

Wocky nodded. "I'd never forget faces so _fine_."

"Was there a man with them?"

"Naw."

"Really? But the women were? All four?"

He nodded again, then slid the magazine towards him. "She left for a while, though. Like, a whole hour."

Wocky indicated Contessa. "The Asian chick."

_She has a name_…

"Where did she go?" Trucy asked him.

"Do I look like I'd know?"

"Not especially, but maybe you heard her say something?"

Wocky considered this, straddling his chair and resting his arms on the back of it. "Think I heard something, yeah."

"What?"

"Something about a bus?"

"A bus?" Apollo asked, bewildered. "She took a bus somewhere?"

"Must have."

Apollo frowned to himself, prodding his forehead in thought. "Did she say anything else?"

Wocky eyed him, obviously recognising the gesture. Uncharacteristically, he didn't make a retort about it but answered him, "she said something about… what was it… she was gonna get some papers."

"Papers?" Apollo frowned. "She went to get some papers and was gone for an hour?"

"Well, if she had to take a bus, she'd take a while," Trucy said reasonably. "Especially with all this snow, the traffic has been kinda bad."

"I guess. Is that all you heard?"

"Yep."

"Thanks a bunch, Wocky," Apollo said, pulling out his CR-Record and entering the data about the mysterious papers into it. "You've given me a possible clue."

"Clue? You doin' another hit?"

"A _murder case_, yes."

_Please don't make me sound like a serial killer or a mobster.._.

Apollo and Trucy took their leave, thanking Wocky and heading back to the detention centre to see if they could talk to their client yet, but not before Apollo bought himself another few pastries.

**14 December, 3:05 PM**

**Detention Centre**

Contessa smiled at them both and sat down. "Welcome back, Mr Justice. Who's your_ adorable_ little friend?"

"Trucy Wright!" she answered proudly before Apollo could. "I'm a magician."

"Are you? I've always thought magic was neat," Contessa said. "My dad was a huge fan of them when I was growing up, and he was always doing magic tricks for me."

"Contessa," Apollo interrupted before Trucy could distract her further. "I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?"

Apollo paused to consider what to ask her about first. "Can you confirm for me the last time you saw the victim?"

"At dinner last night."

_So she's the liar. I knew it. My bracelet didn't react when Eve lied on the bus. Now, what's her tell?_

"Can you tell me a little about that?"

Contessa looked surprised, but obliged. "There really isn't much to tell… Last night, the five of us ate dinner at hotel. I forget the name. It was a pretty fancy hotel, too. Nigel got a phone call and left the table early. I didn't see him at all after dinner… Mr Justice are you all right?"

"Ms Tam," he said, frowning at her. "When you said 'dinner' your hand resting on your face gave a rather unusual twitch."

"Excuse me?"

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.

Contessa stared at him. "I… what? No! Of course not! So what if my hand twitched?"

"It did it when I asked you initially," Apollo said. "Again, when you said the word 'dinner'. More than a coincidence, I think. Ms Tam, I need you to trust me. If you're truly innocent, I will see you acquitted. Please, tell me: when was the last time you saw the victim?"

Contessa flushed pink, playing with a lock of her hair. After a pause, she said, "I did see him backstage."

"When?"

"During my break," she said. "I… I was probably the last person who saw him alive."

"What happened?"

"Nothing much," she said. "I mean, he told me to head to makeup and costuming for my next set after I splashed my face with cool water from an ice chest."

"And you did that?"

"I didn't see him for more than a few minutes," she said. "He was killed by the end of my break."

Apollo glanced up at her from his CR-System. "Can you tell me why you had to change costumes?"

"We were doing a special piece that night," she said. "Usually, we wear black pants, white blouses, and grey vests with lavender bowties. That night we were performing a few songs from the stage musical they're putting on in a few days. Request from the higher-ups. We were supposed to have a guest star that night, too."

"You what?"

"Well, all four of us were to take turns singing; Ylena's not the only one of us with a voice, you know."

"Okay but what about the guest star? Who was he? I don't have any record of him."

"Crawford," she said, making a face and staring off into space as she thought. "Cal? Cole? Something like that. Cole… I think it's Cole? That doesn't sound right but it's close."

"We'll have to talk to him, I suppose," Apollo said. "Since he was off stage when you were, that makes him a suspect. Unless he has an airtight alibi. But I still want to talk to you."

"Okay, shoot."

"Do you recognise this?" Apollo held up the hair comb in it's evidence bag. Contessa looked stunned.

"Mr Justice! What on earth did you do to my comb?!"

"What do you mean?"

"It's broken!" she said, trying to point at it and instead jabbing her finger hard into the glass between them. "Ow! One of the teeth is broken off! What did you do!? That comb is priceless!"

"I didn't do anything to it. This is how I found it. In a box of props."

"A box of props?!"

"A _closed_ box of props."

Contessa made a face, drawing away from her mic and staring at him and her comb. "What was it doing in there? It went missing at a really weird time, too."

"A weird time?"

"Yep. I wanted to wear it with my performance. It's my personal hair comb. That's why my prints are on it."

"Why was it in a prop box?"

"You tell me," she said, folding her arms. "It went missing sometime during my break. I know I saw it when I went into costuming, because I picked it up to clean it real quick. I went to pick it up after I changed and it was gone."

"And then what happened?"

"I heard screaming from the stage until Ylena calmed them."

"How did she do that?" Trucy asked. "I've been trying to work that out."

"She started singing," Contessa said. "One of the songs we were supposed to start singing later. She tricked them into thinking it was all part of the show while some of the stage hands… well, got him down."

Contessa looked awkward at mentioning Nigel. "The police took down names and contact information of everyone they could, and arrested me when they found my prints on the, um, cord."

Contessa tugged on a lock of hair again. "I swear I didn't do it."

"I know."

Apollo laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them considering what to talk to her about. "Contessa, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Yesterday, you went to the Kitaki Bakery, correct?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Kitaki Bakery?"

"Yes, it's a bakery not too far from here. One of the workers there recalled seeing you yesterday."

"No, no," she said. "I know what you're talking about, but why does it matter?"

"Because he said you left for an hour. I was wondering where you went."

"It doesn't have any relevance to the case," she said. "So it doesn't matter, does it? Nigel wasn't with us at the time, and I didn't see him when I left. You may be my lawyer, and a rather cute one at that, but that doesn't mean I have to tell you everything."

Apollo felt himself blush. He really wasn't used to complimentary remarks on his appearance and awkwardly smoothed down his hair, only for his spikes to spring back up. "Can you tell me anyway?"

"No. Please excuse me, Mr Justice."

"Wait!" he stood up. "I have one more question."

"What?"

"Is it true you and the victim didn't get along?"

"We didn't always see eye to eye, no, but then again, I evidently don't see eye to eye with you all the time, either."

Contessa stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow in court, Mr Justice."

She was gone. Apollo looked at Trucy. "I suppose that's all we're going to get out of her. Ready to head back to the office?"

Trucy nodded. "Do you think you're ready for tomorrow?"

"As ready as I'm able to be," said Apollo. "All I can do is review what I have so far."

_What's bothering me so much, I think, is what Contessa won't tell me, and the fact that the evidence is pointing to her. The comb, the fact that she and the victim didn't get along, the murder weapon with her prints, the fact that she has no alibi for the time of the murder and _only_ the time of the murder… it's starting to sound like a lot of cases we've seen lately, and I don't like it one bit_…


End file.
